He shrugged. “By that time, Mr. Stewart claimed we were horse thieves. Since the sheriff expected me to hang, he didn’t bother getting the bullet out — probably caused less damage than they would have if they’d dug it out. I’ve ignored it as much as I can.”

  “Is it still bothering you?”

  “At times. It’s here on the inside of my calf.” He touched a spot on his pants, about halfway between his ankle and knee. “It mainly hurts when I ride for long periods of time, rubbing against the fender of the saddle.”

  “I’m so sorry!” Tears sprang to her eyes when she remembered she’d thought him lazy and irresponsible like her brothers.

  His eyes softened into a brownish tint. “It doesn’t hurt much most of the time.”

  Tears fell, and she averted her eyes so he wouldn’t see. He touched her arm, and when she turned, she was startled to see his face so close to hers.

  He leaned closer and his lips met her.

  Chapter Nine

  Libby enjoyed the taste of his lips on hers for only a moment before she jerked back. “Mr. Babbitt!”

  He pulled away, but his eyes sparkled green again, and his lips twitched. “I’m sorry.” His voice was contrite, but he didn’t look contrite and made no move to leave.

  Libby was glad he didn’t leave because he had not finished his story. “I know you got the horses, but did you get the money back after Mr. Stewart was arrested?”

  “No, and legally, it’s not mine. Edward won the horses fairly in a poker game. I paid freely to buy them, and I got them. The money belongs to Mr. Stewart.” He shrugged.

  “So now, you have to pay back the loan?”

  “Of course.”

  “But where did the money go?

  “I’m sure Mr. Stewart has other family members. If he hangs, it’s whoever is in his will.” He shrugged again.

  Libby pulled her knees up, being sure to keep her dress tucked in. She rested her arms on her knees and laid her head down. Taron had lied to Robbie from the beginning! The horses had not been stolen from them by the Stewarts.

  Still, Mr. Stewart had shot Ander and then killed his own son. He’d killed his son because he’d sold the horses back to Ander over his objections. If Taron had lied about that, what else had he lied about?

  Libby raised her head. “Do you think Taron loves Robbie? Did he marry her for her money?”

  “She has money?”

  “Of course she does!” She readjusted her position, pulling her legs beneath her in a more ladylike position. “You know her father was Dr. Robert Rutherford.”

  He grinned again, showing a dimple. “So she says.”

  “You don’t believe her?”

  “At this juncture in time, I’m finding it difficult to believe what anyone tells me.”

  Could she blame him? “If you don’t believe her, what do you believe?”

  “I don’t know. She could be anyone, from anywhere. Maybe she heard about the ranch and set her sights on Taron, thinking he still owned it. What other kind of woman marries a man she’s only known for a matter of days? What surprised me most, was not that Taron was arrested, but that he married while I was in jail!”

  “In jail because of what he’d done. It was all his fault.” She picked at a thread on the blanket.

  “No. A lot of it was his fault but not all. I made choices. Both my mother and I enabled his behavior, covering his debts, hiding the things he’d done. I allowed him to stay on and knew what he was capable of. I should have known he’d do something like this.”

  “But you did it out of love.”

  “A misguided love. He should have been made to suffer the consequences of his actions. And then I made the choice to go after him. I could have let him go but didn’t. So what if I lost a few horses? I could have been rid of him. Now he’s returned, more of a burden than ever — a wife, a baby on the way, and you and Walter.” His face twisted into a look of anguish. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you were a burden.”

  But didn’t he? She smiled sadly. “But we are a burden — just more mouths for you to feed. I promise I’ll leave as soon as I can. I’ll go back home to Father.”

  “Libby, please don’t! You’re the only one I trust. Don’t leave me to cope with this alone.” His forehead creased, and he sounded sincere.

  “Of course I’ll stay, for as long as you need me, but I’ll pull my weight.” She marveled at her words. She believed him, believed every word he told her.

  Relief flooded his face. “Thank you.”

  “Perhaps when Robbie gets her practice going, it will produce some income and then Taron can begin paying you back.”

  “So you think Robbie is an actual doctor?”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Yes! I think she’s been duped by your brother, but she is who she says she is. I’ve looked into the medical books she brought with her and can’t make hide or tail of them. And she pours over them whenever she gets a chance. Who’d do that if they weren’t a doctor? And I’m sure she has money. She’s told me her father was wealthy.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “That actually might make it worse.”

  “Worse? How?”

  “Taron may have married her for her money.”

  “Oh.” They both fell silent for a moment, and then Libby stirred. “Do you suppose we could warn her?”

  “I don’t know if she’d believe us.”

  “You’re right. She didn’t act as if she believed ...” Should she tell him of what she’d heard and seen? Was she trying to protect Taron now?

  “Believed what?” He leaned forward, looking into her eyes.

  “Let me ask you a question ...”

  “Shoot.”

  “When you went to work the calves, was Taron with you the whole time?”

  Ander scoffed and shook his head. “He took off as soon as we were out of sight of the house.”

  “You mean he didn’t help at all?”

  Ander reached for the canteen and took a swig of water. “Nope. And I don’t know where he went. Why?”

  “I heard someone with Anita ... a man. I thought it was Taron and told Robbie, but I’m not sure she believed me.”

  “Taron and Anita?” He shrugged. “It’s possible. It wouldn’t be the first time, well, according to Anita.”

  Libby could not suppress another gasp. She began packing up her basket. “We’d better get back.”

  Ander stood and helped her to her feet.

  Chapter Ten

  Libby had a difficult time falling asleep, but sleep finally came. She awoke to birds singing and sunlight streaming through the window. She lay in bed for a few minutes, going over all that Ander had told her.

  Scales had fallen from her eyes as they had from Paul’s on the road to Damascus. Just as Paul had done, she’d persecuted the wrong person. Despite that, what amazed her was Ander had tried to kiss her — no, had not tried. He had kissed her. She touched her lips and remembered the kiss, allowed her thoughts to linger over the feel of his warm lips. Her only regret was pulling away so quickly. She smiled to herself and breathed in deeply.

  Was she as bad as Robbie, falling in love so fast? Perhaps it wasn’t love at all. Father had warned her of passion that soon faded away.

  In her defense, she’d known Ander for months now! Eight months to be exact. Yet for most of that time, she’d ignored him, instead longing for another woman’s husband. If she was so wrong about Taron, could she trust her own judgment? Could she be just as wrong about Ander?

  She shook her head. No, Ander was sincere. In her heart of hearts, the matter was settled. The question was what to do with the information he’d shared. Robbie was her best friend and deserved to know what a worthless husband she had. However, she promised Ander she’d not repeat what he told her. She sighed heavily.

  But was Taron worthless? No one was beyond redemption, Father always said. But no one could be forced to change; change must come from the own person’s heart.

  At least Taron should become aware he no longer fooled her. And, after all, maybe he had his own side to the story. Yes, she believed Ander, but Taron might have a different perspective on events — maybe a reason although she could think of none. Still, she should talk to Taron and give him a chance ... a chance to what? Fool her again?

  And did she still have a school-girl crush on Taron? His eyes were still as piercingly blue, his shoulders as broad, his smile as devastating.

  She needed to fully face facts — Taron deeply attracted her. She could not trust herself to listen impartially to him. Ander needed to be with her, but would he agree? There was only one way to find out.

  She stretched and climbed out of bed. She quickly dressed and headed downstairs.

  Ander was alone in the dining room, eating breakfast, and she slid into the chair across from him.

  His eyes lit up when he saw her. “Good morning.”

  She returned his greeting, poured herself a cup of coffee, and took a sip. She savored it a bit and then spoke. “What do you plan to do today?”

  “Today being Sunday, I thought I might rest.”

  She’d lost track of the days. “Oh! I haven’t even asked about church services. Father would be appalled if he knew I’ve not attended since I arrived! Is there a church nearby?”

  “The nearest one is in town, twelve miles away.”

  “You said your ranch hands had a small community. They don’t have a church service?”

  “Not that I know of, but it’d probably be good for them.”

  “For us, too.”

  His eyes twinkled and a dimple appeared. “Of course. The problem is finding someone to lead the service.”

  “How about you?”

  “Me?” He laughed.

  “You’re well educated, have a good speaking voice, and I assume, believe in God?”

  “That’s true of you, too.”

  “But I’m a woman! No one would listen to me.”

  “I do.” He smiled.

  “Well, I’m not sure how others might feel about a woman speaking ... You can do it just as well.”

  “I doubt that. Besides, I’ve never thought about speaking in public.”

  “You never address your ranch hands?” She tilted her head and smiled.

  He put up his hands in surrender. “You got me. I’ll organize something.”

  “And I can help you. I was Father’s ... I guess you could call me his secretary.”

  “Or assistant?”

  “Assistant? I like that.”

  “It will take a while for us to gather our thoughts and decide what we’d like to do — shall we say two weeks from now?”

  “That will be fine. I can jot down some ideas for you.”

  “I would deeply appreciate your insights. We’ll work together and iron this out.”

  “Together?”

  “I’ll only do this if we can do it together.”

  “If you think that’s the best way ...”

  “I do.” He held out a hand, and they shook on it. He smiled again. “In the meantime, would you like to see my workshop?”

  “Where is it located?”

  “It’s actually in the house, in the west wing. I like to have my tools close by in case I get an idea in the middle of the night.”

  “Do you mean you work at night?”

  “If the mood strikes me.” He gestured to her cup. “Are you only going to drink coffee or are you going to eat anything?”

  “I’m not hungry. I’d like to see your workshop if you’re done?” As long as they stayed within the house, she was sure no harm would come from being alone with him.

  He pushed his plate away. “Why don’t you bring along your sketchbook?”

  “Will you give me some pointers? There’s a sketch I need help with.”

  “I am not an expert, by any means, but I’ll help you if I can.”

  She dabbed her mouth with her napkin even though she had not eaten. “Let me grab my sketchbook.”

  She ran upstairs, as giddy as a schoolgirl, anxious to see where Ander created his masterpieces.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Oh, this is lovely!” Libby held a carving, the figure of a cowboy on a bucking horse that looked completed, although the wood was still light.

  “Yes, I’m finished with that one. All it needs is linseed oil.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “Linseed oil dries very slowly, and I have to apply several coats. It depends on the weather. If it stays dry and warm, perhaps a week or so.”

  Libby moved around the room, admiring and exclaiming over each new find. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she finally said.

  “You think they’re good?”

  “They’re brilliant! You don’t know that they are?”

  “Well, yes, they look good to me or I wouldn’t keep making them. However, I have no clue how they appear to others.”

  “Others will immediately see their beauty.”

  He didn’t answer but looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time.

  She moved over to the drafting desk where he had sketched new designs. She rifled through the drawings. “Oh, my! I’m ashamed for you to see my work.”

  “I’ve already seen it.”

  “I mean for you to study it in greater detail.”

  “No two people are the same. While your work may not mirror mine, it still has its own merits.”

  “Do you think so?”

  He grinned lopsidedly. “Do you think your sketches are good?”

  She grinned back sheepishly. “I suppose so or I wouldn’t keep doing them, as you said of your own work. Of course, I’m only a sketcher, not a sculptor.”

  “They both have their own challenges. But if you wanted to learn to carve, I could teach you.”

  “No. Sketching is enough for me. Did you say your father taught you?”

  “My father some, but my aunt more. She had infinitely more patience.”

  “Maybe she recognized your great talent.”

  “You’re going to fill me with the pride of sin.”

  She lifted a brow and shook her head. “I know that is not one of your sins. You hide your work away instead of showing it off.”

  “Not true. My work is displayed in some of the rooms.”

  “But between many other objects. And how many visitors do you have?”

  He ignored the question and gestured to her sketchbook. “What did you want to show me?”

  “May I use your table?”

  “Of course.” He swept the drafting table clean of his sketches. “Now, let me see the problem you’re having.”

  She opened her sketchbook to the drawing she’s struggled with and took the raised seat. “I sketched one of your horses.”

  “I recognize him.”

  She laughed. “I hope you recognize it’s a horse, but look at the withers and through this area.” She ran a finger along the sketch.

  “Your proportion is off slightly. Bring this line down slightly and extend it here.”

  He leaned over her shoulder, his breath warm on her ear, so close she barely understood what he said.

  Still, she nodded. “Thank you. I’ve got it now.”

  But it was another long, tantalizing moment before he moved away. As soon as she was able, she stood and faced him.

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Were we not talking?”

  “About Taron. He can’t hear us here, can he?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

  “I’ve decided I must speak to him about his behavior. I heard your side, and now I want to hear his.”

  “You don’t believe me?” Ander picked up a gouge from his workbench and ran it across a piece of wood, making a deep impression in the surface.

  Libby hoped it was an old piece of wood and not worthwhile. “Of course I believe you! However, his viewpoint is different than yours. I want to understand why he’s behaved the way he has.”

  Ander still ran the gouge, seemingly oblivious to what he was doing. “I’ve been trying to figure that out since I was a child. It’s been of no use.”

  “Perhaps an outsider’s perspective might help.”

  He glanced at her in surprise. “Whose?”

  She tilted her head and grinned. “Mine, silly.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I guess I don’t think of you as an outsider.”

  “You don’t?”

  “We traveled together in confined quarters for weeks. After that, how can I possibly see you as an outsider?”

  “You were pretty upset with me the entire time.”

  “That’s not exactly accurate. The travel was difficult for me ...”

  “Because of your leg?”

  He glanced at her, with that quizzical expression he often used, and studied her for a moment. Then he nodded. “Yes, because of my leg. And you kept company with Taron and Robbie ...”

  “Because you were angry with them, and I didn’t know why.”

  His eyes became a calm gray, concealing something. Anger?

  He continued staring at her until she became uncomfortable under his scrutiny. She cleared her throat. “I’m not saying you did not have a right to be angry at your brother, if for no other reason than for your mother’s sake. To leave your mother penniless was, is, despicable.”

  “What of me? He left me penniless.”

  “Yes, but you’re young and healthy. You can regain what has been taken from you without resorting to ... anger or revenge.”

  “You are referring to ‘turning the other cheek.’ You have asked me to preach. Perhaps I can preach what I cannot practice.”

  “Or perhaps you can practice what you preach.”

  He tightened his lips. “It will take a lot of practice before I forgive my brother.”

  “What of Robbie and her child?”

  “I have been kind to her. I gave her a home for shelter, food to eat, and even fixed the wing for her to practice medicine.”

  His words gave her pause. Perhaps he’d spoken sharply to Robbie, but he had done all he’d said and more. “Still, I think we need to speak to Taron, find out what he was doing during the weeks he should have been working the calves.”

 

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